


Provocateur

by akitsuko



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Edward Nygma, Canon-Typical Violence, Coitus Interruptus, Coming Untouched, Established Relationship, Flirting, Hair-pulling, Jealous Oswald Cobblepot, Jealousy, Love Bites, M/M, Murder Husbands, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Rough Sex, Smut, Top Oswald Cobblepot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24537622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akitsuko/pseuds/akitsuko
Summary: Edward enjoys flirting with strangers, because he simply loves it when Oswald gets possessive.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 18
Kudos: 137





	Provocateur

**Author's Note:**

> Because who doesn't love a bit of the ol' jealousy trope? And no one does jealousy quite like Os.  
> Not exactly canon compliant. I don't even know where it would fit. Enjoy.

It's not quite a stabbing sensation. More a cramp in his gut. Out of the blue, instantly drawing his attention away from the piles of work on his desk. While hardly painful, it makes him uncomfortable in his mind, uneasy. Oswald puts down his pen and leans back in his chair. Takes a deep breath and stands up. 

It isn't the first time he's had this feeling. He can't explain it. By now, though, he's learnt to tell what it means. And what it means is that, somehow, inexplicably, he needs to be near Edward. 

The first time, he hadn't associated it with any deeper meaning, and managed to save Edward's life through sheer stroke of luck. The second time, Edward had been in mortal peril yet again. The man seemed to attract trouble wherever he went. And every time, with unerring accuracy and no matter the distance, Oswald feels it in himself with this physical discomfort. 

He's never mentioned it to Edward, all too aware of how foolish he would sound. 

He leaves the relative comfort of his office and stands on the balcony to survey the Lounge. It's packed, Saturday night, barely space to move. The music pounds with a strong bass that seems to set the place shaking. Drinks are flowing, people are dancing and conversing. Everything seems to be in order, and Oswald takes a scant moment to be proud of what he's created here. Times are tough, and it's no small feat to keep a business not only afloat but thriving. A small smile tugs at his lips. 

He scans the crowd again, with more purpose this time, and quickly fixes on the familiar figure sitting at the crammed bar. Edward sticks out like a sore thumb, garishly decked out in his signature green. At least he's not wearing that ridiculous hat, although Oswald notes with dismay that it sits on the bar instead. He allows his gaze to linger, not that he can pick out any details from this distance. In Edward's hand is a drink, and he seems to be having an animated conversation with a man sitting to his right. 

Everything appears to be fine; Edward is in no immediate danger. Then he inhales, sharply, as his gut cramps again. He takes another look, just to be sure. 

It hits him like a truck when he sees it, knocking the breath out of him. Edward can be quite the flirt when he wants to be. He's angling his body toward the unfamiliar man as he talks, leaning into his space. The grin on his face is sultry, inviting. Their knees are practically touching. However, it's not those things that set Oswald's temper alight; no, he's seen Edward flaunt himself like this many times before, and while he doesn't enjoy it, he also knows he doesn't have to feel threatened by it. It's the reciprocation that sends his blood pressure skyrocketing. It's the way this man, this  _ nobody _ , leans closer to Edward and puts a hand halfway up his thigh. 

If he were able, Oswald would leap straight off the balcony, such is his blinding fury. Since he can't, he heads determinedly down the steps and makes a beeline for the pair. The majority of the clientele recognise him, at least, and the crowd parts easily to allow him through. It takes every ounce of willpower he possesses to school his expression into something relatively benign, though he's not sure he can manage friendly, before approaching Edward from behind and tapping him on the shoulder. 

Edward is already grinning when he turns around; he must have spotted Oswald at some point. "I was starting to wonder where you were."

Oswald's own smile is more reminiscent of a shark, feral and dangerous. "I see you've been making friends."

He looks at this interloper. Probably around Edward's age, no particular distinguishing features. Almost boyish and rather plain. 

"Yes," Edward replies, taking a sip of his drink. "We were discussing modern cryogenics."

"Of course you were."

"You a friend of Eddie's?" The man addresses him, holding out his hand (not the one stubbornly resting on Edward's leg) and looking entirely too comfortable. "Hi, I'm Matt."

_ Eddie.  _ Oswald fights back a gag at the sound of someone other than himself using that nickname and resists the urge to slit this man's throat right here and now. Then, slowly, it dawns on Oswald, as he ignores the extended hand, that this poor bastard has no idea who he or Edward are. Of course. No one would usually be stupid enough to take Edward's flirtatious bait, particularly in Oswald's own club. Not unless they have a death wish. 

Edward's faux innocence isn't fooling him either. He's waiting to see what Oswald will do, he gets some sort of thrill out of it. 

Perhaps, just because it will annoy Edward, he will allow this man to leave with his life, blissfully unaware of how lucky he is. 

The pause in conversation has gone on long enough to take on a tinge of awkwardness. Matt's easy smile falters and he lowers his outstretched hand. 

"I'm terribly sorry,  _ Eddie _ ," Oswald drawls, "but I need to borrow you for the rest of the evening."

Only now does Edward allow his charade to drop slightly, eyeing Oswald with a perplexed expression as he places his drink on the bar. He's not following the expected script, he knows, and it gives Oswald a satisfied sense of smugness to be out-maneuvering him at his own game. And without any violence, too. He should write himself another certificate. 

Edward makes to stand up, but Matt's hand tightens on his thigh. "Actually," he endeavours, "I was hoping the two of us could go somewhere more, y'know… private?" 

And that's all it takes to break Oswald's self-control. His face contorts with barely concealed rage as he steps in close to Edward, wrapping a possessive arm around his waist and staring pointedly at Matt's hand.

"Did you just proposition my partner,  _ Matt _ ?" He spits the name out. 

The hand is finally withdrawn, and Matt's expression has become embarrassed. "Oh, sorry, I didn't realise-" 

Edward's grin is dazzling as he turns towards Oswald and strokes a finger along his jaw. "Don't be like that, Mr Penguin."

Matt's face drains of colour as the realisation hits him. The use of Oswald's professional name would put the fear of God into almost anybody, and Oswald is pleased to see that his violent reputation has preceded him once again. 

He leans towards Edward, their lips brushing together as he says loudly enough for Matt to hear, "I ought to keep you on a leash, Riddler."

Then he turns to face Matt again. The fool seems to have grasped the enormity of the error he has made. His eyes are wide, and he's flustered and babbling apologies as he attempts to get up and leave. Oswald stops him with his cane, allowing malice to lace his words. "Unfortunately for  _ you _ , Edward is mine. And I'm afraid I simply cannot tolerate other people touching my things."

Edward is positively beaming at his side, and Oswald curses himself for being so predictable. He detaches himself enough to raise a hand in the air, and Victor materialises behind Matt's shoulder.

"You gestured, Boss?" 

Matt looks like he might be about to pee himself. 

"I certainly did," Oswald replies, his tone far more cheerful now. "Would you please escort this impertinent gentleman to the alley out back?"

"Gladly." Victor takes Matt by the shoulders and steers him away. "Just to be clear, you want him dead?" 

"Wait-" Matt starts, but he is ignored. 

"Preferably. At the very least, I want him to lose that hand. Enjoy yourself."

Victor's face lights up, clearly giddy at being given the freedom to indulge his sadistic tendencies. "Gotcha."

He takes Matt, who has begun to struggle ineffectively and plead for his life, across the club and out through one of the back exits. A few people turn to stare, gossiping amongst themselves about the commotion, but the removal of boisterous guests is hardly an unusual occurrence. Just another night at the Iceberg Lounge. 

That unpleasantness dealt with, Oswald turns his attention back to Edward. His eyes are twinkling and mischievous behind his glasses; he's far more amused than he has any right to be, under the circumstances. He always knows just how to get Oswald riled up. Oswald growls into his ear, "My office.  _ Now."  _

Edward licks his lips, collects his hat, and saunters up the stairs ahead of him. Like the cat that got the cream. 

Oswald keeps his cool as best he can until the office door is closed behind them. Then he advances to where Edward is standing in the middle of the room. Predatory. "Do you think this is funny?" 

Edward smirks, maintaining eye contact. "What can I say? Jealousy is a good look on you."

"You want to talk about good looks?" Oswald stares him down. "Get undressed,  _ Eddie." _

Edward chuckles but complies, shedding his suit jacket and loosening his tie. "That really got you. I'm going to use that again."

"Don't you dare."

Edward's nimble fingers unbutton his shirt, taking his time over the cuffs as if he has all the time in the world. Oswald refuses to give him the satisfaction of revealing his impatience, just watching as the shirt drops to the floor. 

"I almost thought you were going to let him go," Edward comments as he works his belt free. This time, Oswald can't disguise his sneer of disgust. 

"After he touched you? Which you allowed to happen, by the way."

Edward drops his trousers and underwear, stepping out of his shoes and socks at the same time, leaving him completely bare for Oswald's perusal. He stands tall, confidence written all over him, his cock hard and heavy between his legs. "I love it when you get all hot and bothered for me."

"I want to wring your neck." Amongst other things. "Bend over my desk."

Edward doesn't need to be asked twice. He clears space for his upper body and makes himself as comfortable as he can, legs wide and ass tilted invitingly in the air. 

Oswald swallows thickly, burning the image into his permanent memory, before coming around to retrieve a bottle of lube from one of the drawers. It's almost empty. He's starting to think that his office must feature in a lot of Edward's fantasies, because this sort of thing is happening with increasing frequency. 

He squeezes some of the fluid out onto his fingers. "I think you need to be reminded…" He plays at Edward's rim, delighting in the full-body shudder he elicits, "... exactly.who it is that you belong to."

He punctuates the statement by thrusting one finger in fully, and Edward digs his nails into the desk as he cries out. Normally, Oswald likes to take his time with this, getting Edward worked into a desperate frenzy. But this game is a little different, and he has to remind himself not to be too gentle. It's not difficult, with the fresh memories of Edward's most recent flirtation swimming around in his mind. 

It may all be in pursuit of this end goal, but that doesn't mean he has to like it. 

He drives his finger in and out in a steady, unforgiving rhythm until Edward is whimpering. 

"I can't believe you let him put his hands on you." Oswald shoves a second finger in, crooking them both, and Edward slams his fist on the desk as he pushes back. "No one can touch you but me. No one will ever know your body like I do."

Edward scrambles to take off his glasses as his head thrashes, muscles rippling throughout his back as he clenches around the unrelenting thrusts of Oswald's fingers. He is a sight to behold, losing control already, cockiness gone and replaced with want. Oswald bites his lip, scissoring his fingers and doing his best to avoid Edward's prostate. He doesn't want this to be over too soon. 

A third finger goes in. More thrusting, stretching, scissoring. It's not long before Edward is a mess, sweaty amd shaking and practically sucking Oswald's fingers into him. Beautiful. 

Only when he deems he's done enough does Oswald pull out completely, giving Edward a second to get his breath back while he unbuckles his own belt. He never undresses for these encounters. It's part of the experience. A visible, tangible reminder of the power dynamic at play. So it's the bare minimum, dick out through his open trousers, ensuring that Edward can feel the brush of fabric against the backs of his bare legs. 

"Tell me," he says, grabbing Edward's ass cheeks and spreading them apart to expose him, "who's allowed to fuck you?" 

"Just you," Edward gasps as he tries to look over his shoulder. "Only ever you."

"Because…?"

Oswald smears himself quickly with lube and teases Edward's hole, the head of his cock snagging on the tight ring of muscle. He loves teasing Edward like this, making him beg for it; and Edward doesn't disappoint, biting his lip as he makes futile attempts to impale himself. 

"Because I'm yours. Please, Oswald, please-" 

Edward cuts himself off with a choked out cry as Oswald enters him in a single glide. Balls deep, Oswald holds still just for a moment, savouring the sudden and almost overwhelming heat. Being inside Edward is nothing short of magical. Tight, hot muscles clenching around him, the sight of Edward stretched to accommodate him, engulfing him in all his magnificence. He adjusts his grip to sink his fingers around Edward's hips, digging deep enough to leave a gorgeous pattern of bruises later. He can hardly wait to see them bloom. 

It's a rough pace he sets, the sound of skin slapping together loud in the room. He pulls Edward's body back as he thrusts in, meeting him each and every time, and it's so satisfying that all Edward can do is take whatever he chooses to dish out. And Edward is so loud. He makes no effort to bite back his hoarse moans, his occasional curses, the intense screams that are accompanied by quivers throughout his entire body. 

Oswald is on the verge of praising him, telling him how good and perfect he is. And it seems that Edward can tell, because he chooses that moment to scramble back a modicum of coherency and throw Oswald a leer over his shoulder. "So good,  _ Matt."  _

Oswald halts abruptly, incredulity and disbelief bulldozing their way through his system. 

He knows. He knows that Edward has only said it to rile him up. He knows, in his heart, that Edward is deliriously in love with him, with  _ Oswald _ , and that although they've caused each other untold amounts of grief in the past, those days of animosity and betrayal are long since over. 

But those things don't prevent the onslaught of possessive fury that threatens to overcome him. 

He feels his features contort, mouth twisted, eyes widened and wild. His nails pinch into Edward's skin and he's not sure he can contain the tantrum he's desperate to unleash. 

Footsteps are suddenly entering the room. "Hey Boss, I thought you might- oh. You're in the middle of-" 

"I want that bastard drowned in his own blood, Victor!" Oswald screams. "Now,  _ get out!"  _

The footsteps, thankfully, retreat again, and Oswald holds his breath until he hears the door close. Embarrassment now wages war with anger inside him, each seemingly keen for the top spot. 

Edward huffs out a disbelieving laugh beneath him. "I'll never be able to look Zsasz in the eye again."

"To hell with Zsasz!!" shouts Oswald. He picks up right where he stopped, but tightens his grip as if trying to draw blood with his fingernails, fucking Edward as hard and fast as his damaged leg will allow. The desk shakes underneath them, and Edward is howling immediately, his mouth hanging lax as he struggles to find purchase on the smooth surface. 

Oswald refuses to relent. "You are mine," he grinds out as he snaps his hips, jolting Edward's whole body forward with every thrust. "Do you hear me, Eddie?  _ Mine!"  _

"Yours," Edward breathlessly agrees. "Yours, Os. Yours. Please, oh my, don't stop, love this, love you-" 

Then he can't speak, because Oswald reaches up to fist a hand in his hair and yank his head back, forcing his back to arch almost painfully. He lets out a long, low moan, a signal to Oswald that he's getting close, a way of begging without words for as much as he can get. And Oswald is grunting now from the exertion of it, but he can feel the telltale signs of impending orgasm unfurling within himself too, a mantra of "Mine" being chanted under his breath as he pummels Edward towards ruin.

Edward shudders when he comes, his cock completely untouched and twitching underneath him. Oswald feels it in the clenching of his insides, and the tension draining from his body as the peak of it eases, turning him into a limp and pliable weight in Oswald's hands. And Oswald fucks him right through it, chasing his own climax, leaning down to sink his teeth into Edward's shoulder as he finally reaches that blissful pinnacle. He sucks a dark mark into the bite as he rides out the aftershocks, eventually coming to a stop completely and collapsing onto Edward's back. 

The two of them wait there in silence as they slowly come back to reality. Only when he starts to feel oversensitive does Oswald pull out, wincing a little, and he takes a small step back to tuck himself back into his pants. Edward doesn't move; he stays slumped over the desk, head turned to the side and eyes unfocused, chest heaving deep breaths. The hickey on his shoulder is purple and huge. As Oswald takes in the sight, he notices his release begin to ooze out of Edward, dripping from his hole to dribble down the insides of his thighs, and he can't help but grin when Edward still remains where he is, making no effort to clean himself up. And Oswald can't help himself; he reaches out, scooping some of it onto two of his fingers and pressing it back inside Edward. This does get a reaction, albeit only an exhausted moan. He is the absolute picture of debauchery. 

A job well done, Oswald flatters himself. 

He makes sure that Edward can reach his box of tissues before popping to the bathroom to wash his hands and readjust his appearance. When he comes back, Edward has managed to get his trousers back on and is sitting perched on the edge of the desk, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He smiles as Oswald comes back to him, pulling him into a long, deep kiss as soon as he's within arm's reach. 

Oswald loves kissing him, can't get enough of it. Edward's mouth, his teeth, his tongue, they were made for kissing, and Oswald feels another surge of possessiveness as he reminds himself that he's the only one who gets to experience what Edward tastes like anymore, no matter who he might flirt with. 

When they separate, they stay close, foreheads resting against each other as they enjoy a moment of peace and privacy. 

Edward brings a hand up to rub a thumb along one of Oswald's cheekbones. "You're so good to me," he murmurs, kissing him again, and Oswald wraps his arms around his waist. 

"Anything for you," he responds when they pull apart again. And he notices that the cramp in his gut isn't there anymore. 

**Author's Note:**

> I know I write Os as a horny bitch, but he's asexual in my headcanon. Because it's Pride month, and I'm asexual too, I was thinking about writing something where he and Ed navigate his asexuality in their relationship. Would anyone be into that?


End file.
